Shelley Galloway - The Mommy Bride

Claire’s shoulders relaxed as she realized she wasn’t going to have to go to battle with the man to prove once again that she was stronger than she looked.

As yet another rush of boys passed, their hair sticking straight up and sleepy expressions on their faces, Claire stopped stirring for a moment and tried to find Wes.

He’d been grumpy this morning, answering all her questions with one-word answers. Claire wondered if he was more nervous about the meet than he let on.

Unfortunately, Claire didn’t see a hint of her son in the crowd of teenagers. Only a familiar man leaning against the wall near the kitchen entrance and checking off something on a clipboard.

Ty Slattery smiled when their eyes met. “Way to put Coach Davidson in his place,” he said, making it obvious he’d heard every word of her previous conversation. “I bet he won’t say a word next time you show up early to make pancakes.”

Oops. “Did I sound rude?”

“Not rude, just a little brusque.” Stepping forward, he said, “How are you this morning?”

“I’m fine.”

“Glad to hear it.”

The look Ty gave her, so warm and caring, made Claire stir the batter with a little more force than necessary. Made her think maybe he was more attractive than she’d originally thought.

His look made Claire feel like she was missing something. Made her remember that once upon a time she believed in dreams and fairy tales. In happily-ever-afters.

No way was she ever going down that path again. “You’re here early, too.”

“I’m working today—helping to coach and with any medical emergencies.”

“Gene should have been thanking you for your time. I know you’ve been putting in long hours at the hospital—practically every time I’ve come in your name has been listed as one of the doctors on duty.”

He shrugged off her comment. “It’s part of being a resident, I guess. Fortunately, this last rotation of mine is not too intense. I’ve got more days and weekends off than I can ever remember having.”

More kids wandered by. Jill Young, another wrestling parent, reached behind her to get cooking spray. “I’ll get started on the griddle, Claire.”

Claire was just about to say her goodbyes to Ty when he spoke again. “Coach asked if I’d check out a couple of kids for Lane’s End and the other competing teams. I decided to catch them while they weighed in. I’ll be sure and take a good look at Wes’s shoulder.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Because he was still standing there—even though they’d both commented on how busy they were and how much there still was to do—she said, “You can come back for pancakes when you’re done.”

“Are you finally agreeing to have a meal with me, Claire?”

“I’m offering to make you some pancakes, Dr. Slattery.”

After almost a full minute, Ty replied. “I’ll take you up on that. Beggars and choosers, you know.”

Just like she’d touched a barbed wire, a little zing charged right through her when he smiled again before turning to another group of incoming boys.

With more care than necessary, Claire picked up the whisk and attacked the batter again. No. She so did not need to even think about Ty Slattery…or her reaction to him.

Surely there had to be something about him she didn’t like. His smile? No, she liked that fine. The way he looked in those baggy khakis, like he’d rolled out of bed into the first pair of trousers that were available? No, rumbled clothes had never bothered her.

Maybe she really didn’t like the way he was always around. Always so helpful, like she didn’t have a mind of her own. Maybe it was his playful semi-flirting.

Yeah. That’s what she didn’t like. She didn’t like that one bit.

Claire, you’re worthless! Ray’s voice charged forth from the dead. Reminding her that she didn’t need—or want—a man in her life.

She might make pancakes for men. She might even serve them with a smile. But she sure as heck didn’t need to have them flirting with her. No way. No how.

“You okay, Claire? I think the batter’s called a truce,” Jill said.

With a clatter, the spoon hit the side of the stainless steel bowl. “Sorry, I don’t know where my mind went. I think I’ll go check on the syrup.”

Claire scurried out before Jill could say a word about that.

FIVE HOURS LATER, Wes slipped a burnished pewter-colored medal around his neck. “It’s only fourth place, Mom,” he said modestly, though his eyes told a whole different story. In them, Claire saw triumph and pride, two things that she knew were hard to obtain.

“Fourth place is terrific! We’ll have to put that medal on the wall at home.”

Wes looked over at the boy from a neighboring district wearing the gold medal. “It’s not that big a deal.”

His hot and cold bursts were wearing her out. “I think it is. If they didn’t think fourth place was special, they wouldn’t have made a medal for it, now would they?”

His chin rose and, in his eyes, a faint glimmer of pride shone for a moment. “I never thought of that.”

Unable to stop herself from touching him, Claire brushed back a thatch of hair from his forehead. “That’s why you have me, honey. To remind you.”

Like a flash, her son’s expression changed again. “Mom!”

“What?”

“Don’t call me that,” he whispered. “And don’t do that, either.”

Claire felt like she’d just been slapped. “Don’t do what?” For the life of her, all she could remember doing was being encouraging. “Wes, I’m just trying—”

“Stop, Mom.”

As Wes ran off to the locker room to wash as well as he could and get changed, Claire sat back down, letting her shoulders slump in the near empty stands.

“You okay?”

Ty. For once, she didn’t even care that he was nearby. Again. Right that minute, she could use a friend. Any friend. Correction, any understanding person. “Yeah.”

“You don’t look like it.”

Resting her elbows on her thighs, Claire said, “It’s nothing. Just teenage boy stuff. It’s all new to me.”

“What? You weren’t a teenage boy once?”

That made her laugh. “You’re right. I never thought I’d say this, but this is when I miss having a brother. I seem to really be messing up this afternoon.”

As boys and parents wandered around, picking up old Gatorade bottles, sweatpants and smelly socks, Claire kept her attention on the locker room door.

Ty kept his attention on Claire. He knew she was a single mom, but didn’t know much about her past. He also couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t mention Wes’s dad. Giving in to impulse, he said, “Where is Wes’s dad?”

Her eyes became guarded again. “Gone.”

“Oh.” Yep, that question had been a mistake. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s no secret.” Finally sparing him a glance, Claire shrugged and added, “He passed away about three years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We were separated before that. We had a lot of problems. He, um, wasn’t a good husband. But he did love Wes. In his own way, at least. I guess that counts for something, huh?”

Thinking back to his own childhood, where his dad did the best he could even though a lot of times it wasn’t too good at all, Ty nodded.

Claire tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled weakly. “Sorry, I’m not one of those people who loves to talk about themselves.”

He got that. He didn’t like to talk about himself, either.

And because her announcement was so refreshing, sounded so good, he wanted to know more. What had happened with her husband? He hadn’t been a good husband? What did that mean? What had happened to her?